The Hog's Head Incident

The Hog's Head Incident by Air Wiqueno

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Hey, Hermione, what's the time, anyway?" Ron asked, taking a look out further on to the school grounds, wondering if it was time for him to head out to Hogsmeade.

Hermione replied with a curious expression imprinted on her face. "Quarter to twelve, almost lunchtime... Why?"

"Oh, just asking," he covered up hastily, not meeting her eyes.

A suspicious thought crossed Hermione's mind as she clarified quickly. "You're not going to Fred's again, are you? Because if you are, I just don't know if I can handle another dung bomb in Crookshanks' litter box!?" She crossed her arms and got up from her soft spot on the grass near the Quidditch pitch.

Yeah, Ron thought amusedly, that was a classic. Stank like poop for days. Note to self: Remember to thank Fred for that, and visit the Wheezes again for a refill.

"Nope, I'm going out for a drink with Harry and--er... Draco. We're celebrating the defeat of Hufflepuff in the Quidditch Tournament so, er... We thought it'd be okay just once. I mean, it's not likely we'll be caught--" he added, smiling sheepishly at Hermione before being cut off abruptly.

"--Since when were you and Malfoy on first name terms?" she asked, shock evident in her voice.

Ron paused. Oh here we go, he thought desperately. "Er... since we started drinking together?" he replied half-asking Hermione, wondering, terrified, if it was an acceptable answer.

There was another pause as she pondered his answer. "Oh, right," said an obviously dumbfounded Hermione when she realized she had no real idea about the drinking phenomenon of men. Of course, Ron knew she had had some wine now and then, white being her favorite, but drinking was not exactly permitted legally in Hogwarts, let alone even England at that age... But somehow, someway, they wiggled past it, and drank once in a while there.

Heck, thought Ron, chuckling, The Hog's Head doesn't care, and it's not like we're actually drinking in Hogwarts. The Hog's Head had a very unusual reputation for being very rough, rowdy, informal and not caring if you were a vampire or a dark lord as long as you paid them.

"But... When did you two start drinking together?" she enquired suddenly, regaining her suspicious outlook to this whole matter.

"Er, since we got on a first name basis..." he mumbled, and seeing Hermione's perplexed expression, he added, "Draco's Russian, Hermione. You know, they have to drink to get on first name basis." He chuckled and made towards the pathway down to Hogsmeade, the Iron Gate clearly in view.

"Hold on just a second!" Hermione exclaimed, catching him with his back turned.

Oh, perfect timing, Hermione, Ron thought, Oh yes. He revolved slowly from his position a few meters away, wincing, and expecting what he knew was coming.

" You better not be late, Ron, or I'll have to call on Ginny."

Oh bugger, Ron nearly shouted aloud. Not... Ginny! She'd have an owl off to the Burrow before you could say 'Bloody Hell'.

Ron managed to convince her he wouldn't with a quick, "Right, Hermione."

After waving a gloomy goodbye to Hermione (he knew he wouldn't have fun if he had to come home-- early.), Ron headed down the pebbled, winding path to Hogsmeade, turning around for a second to watch Hermione trudge up to castle.

"For the sake of Merlin, can't we drink?" he mumbled to no one in particular. "I'm almost eighteen too. I mean, it's not like we lose our heads and leave the country when we loosen up a bit and drink..." Walking through the gate and looking around for Harry, Ron cautiously marched himself over to the Hog's Head.

"Gods forgive me, no wonder everyone keeps telling me women are not understandable. One minute they're saying they like your new shoes, and the next they're asking if they're not supposedly from Gladrags Used Shoes Warehouse in Timbuktu--" Ron continued babbling, until he was most abruptly interrupted by a pale, on-looking young teen, who seemed to be resisting the urge to come over, in front of Ron, and laugh out loud.

"--Yeah, I really hate that ... Pansy keeps asking me when I'm going to take her to the Witch Weekly office so she can meet the inventor of the Most Charming Smile award," a teenage boy, sneaking out from the bushes to the side, snickered.

Ron looked up to see Draco's impassive face looking down on him and gesturing him to come inside the pub.

Ron strode into the pub, noticing Harry. It was a very old, semi run-down pub with a scrubby wooden bar standing at the back. Behind it, leaning against the black cushion on the corners of the bar, was a fairly young, bright-faced man.

"Harry, how's it going?" asked Ron, approaching his table and making a very believable attempt at doing something he had very little experience with by acting serious. "You're not still getting those occasional hiccup plus asthma attacks in between evening tea, are you?" Ron asked, restraining himself from bursting into a pig-like snort.

"Oh, I'm fine, er--no, those attacks went away, for some odd reason, right after you and Hermione stopped trying to get me to come with you guys to Hagrid's for cooking lessons," Harry lied quickly, hoping that Ron was gullible enough to believe him again, and grinned and winked at Draco, who knew of the whole scam.

Draco chuckled, agreeing. "Yeah, don't suppose anyone really eats his food anyways."

"Oh, shut up Harry," Ron chimed in, "You know I went to those lessons just for Hagrid's sake. But, Hermione really wanted the recipe of those rock cakes though. Said something about needing a doorstopper for sometime." He sat down lightly and leaned back.

Harry glowered and Ron stuck out his tongue. "Well," he muttered under his breath, "at least they have one sensible use. They almost always get some people to shut their mouth when they're telling bad jokes..." he continued, sending Harry a pointed look.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, barely hearing the comment. "You're saying 'Bad jokes' and 'Harry Potter' in the same sentence? Oh, that was a low blow that only a stupid prat that was jealous would say!" He covered his mouth with his hand in mock horror. "Now, that deserves some vengeance. So, how are your Divination extra classes going, Ron?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

Draco snorted into his hand and Ron flushed the deepest red Harry had ever seen... the deepest red that he had seen so far that year, that is. By far the deepest would have been when Colin had asked Ron out, and then finally admitted that he wasn't really gay, but was testing Harry out for Neville's benefit. That boy had courage, that one did, to ask Ron that. He scared Ron to death.

"Well, it is pretty interesting, y'know. We're learning palmistry at the moment. Here, give me you're hand then, Draco," Ron added, upon seeing Draco snickering.

Draco, held out his right hand, and Ron studied it carefully. "Right, Draco, you're life will be very short -- most likely because you'll die early in you're chosen profession... being a Death Eater, I believe? Yes, and you're love life is going down the drain, and--since my mother advised me never to say something if it wasn't something nice--I'm not going to utter a word about your brain power," Ron smirked as he let go of Draco's hand and leaned back in his chair.

"Oh, sure, ickle Ronniekins, follow Mummy." At that moment, the barkeeper, Henry, walked up to their table.

"Hiya Harry, Ron. Well, who's this you've brought along today?" he greeted, his heavy Irish accent flourishing outwards, placing his hands on the table and looking at Draco.

Ron immediately answered. "Oh, this is Draco, Henry. He's a friend."

"Right, nice to meet you, Draco," he said, and gave Draco a suspicious look. Harry and Ron supposed he had heard more than the -- well -- normal and encouraging rumors spreading around about the Malfoy family. "So, what'll you lot be having tonight? I might ask you not to get as drunk as last time. Rosmerta is still wondering how those gallons upon gallons of yellow dyed beer somehow poured themselves all around her beautiful entrance plants over at The Three Broomsticks," Henry added, letting out a low, hearty chuckle.

"Well, we'll never admit it... You'll never get us!" Ron exclaimed, leaping to his feet, and roaring out over all the noise of the thronged pub. " We had nothing to do with it, and to tell you the truth, we were taken home by a responsible wizard--'' (Harry and Draco both snorted into their hand.) "-- so we are not guilty." He took a step back, grinning, while the others just chuckled lightly at his powerful and moving skit.

"Sure," Henry winked. "And I was happy to help you get back too. I remember my days at Hogwarts, and boy did we overload it." Ron flopped himself back down onto his seat miserably, put out completely.

Henry took Ron, Harry and Draco's orders and hurried off to the bar to give them to the bartender.

Draco leaned back in his chair, catching Harry's eye, and trying not to burst into an effeminate fit of giggles. Of course, it was only him that knew this ever so often occurred. "So, why are we celebrating again? Oh yes, Ravenclaw won the Quidditch Tournament. How... unbelievable," he said, and looked over at Harry, who was twiddling his thumbs absent-mindedly. "But, wasn't it you who had said that Hufflepuff should have won, Harry, old friend?" Draco smirked, watching his words do the work.

Ron snickered as Harry explained. "Well, er-- yeah. They had a great chance, I mean their new seeker is really talented and-- and I think that they had a great chance of winning the cup."

"Oh, shut up, Triple H, you're supposed to be supporting Gryffindor!" Ron yelled.

"Triple H?" questioned Draco. "Isn't he that Muggle wrestler, you know the one that--that does this--'' he drank some water and sprayed it all over them, as he spat it out of his mouth.

"What?! No, Draco, you freak!" he stated, glancing around, his eyes sharp for any glimpse of laughter. "It stands for Harry the Heir of Hufflepuff," Ron informed them both, nodding in a matter-of-fact manner and smiling down upon them.

Harry grabbed a handkerchief and dabbed it over himself. "Really, Draco, if we didn't know him, which in this case is true, we wouldn't need a practical example."

"Er, sorry guys. I've actually gotten quite interested in Muggle wrestling. Of course, I don't watch it much these days, there are no TV's in Hogwarts."

"TV's?" Ron asked, bringing a look of ecstasy over his face, very similar to his father's. "Ooh, does that run on eckelticity too," he whispered in an uncanny imitation of Arthur Weasley, "along with all the other bloody brilliant appliances those ignorant fools come up with?" he said, turning back to anger-filled Ron with the last comment.

"You really do like that term, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, I think of it as like my copyrighted catchphrase... I think it sounds pretty good--''

"Yeah, I agree. Let me know when it's copyrighted."

"Will do, Draco."

"Thanks."

"Not a problem, Draco."

"No really thanks."

"It's nothing at all, Draco," Ron concluded, waving away Draco's thanks.

"And another thing ... Don't call me Draco, it's Malfoy to you."

"Right, I'll call you Malfoy ... Same goes for you; call me Weasley, Draco."

"OK, I'll call you Weasel, Ron."

Henry came bustling over with their drinks at that particular second to Harry's dismay (he was quite enjoying watching their bonding session), and put a stop to their one-sentence conversation.

"There you go," he smiled as he put all of their drinks on the table and bade them a very enjoyable evening.

"Oh," said Ron, grabbing his drink, and clinking it noisily against Draco and Harry's mugs. "We will, we will..."

~>~<~>~<~>~<~ ... 5 Hours Later ...

Ron woke up suddenly, his head throbbing and immediately felt a hangover. He spat yellow, and green mush all over the ground and instantly felt a lower internal pressure come along. Oh, no way, not that again, he thought to himself.

He tried to sit up, and right away was denied. It was then that his poisoned brain registered that he was, well... handcuffed to a bench in Diagon Alley. Well, he thought sarcastically, there's another reason I can't have the loo pressure at this particular moment in my very enjoyable life. He grimaced.

"What the hell?!" Ron roared, causing a group of old ladies who looked like they had they're own mess of problems to deal with, to scatter away quickly, looking at him as if he was a lunatic as a terrific throb emitted inside his head...

Ron tried to think about what had happened that night, and eventually squeezed out a horrible vision of it. He hastily kicked the thought away and thought again. The last thing he remembered was them playing the Famous Witches and Wizards Card Game for drinks.

Yeah, that was it. It was a game in which you had to name a Famous Witch or Wizard whose name began with the last letter of the previous Famous Witch or Wizard's name. Each time you couldn't name one you had to drink another shot. Humph! thought Ron, as he unchained himself, I really need to revise those 500 hundred cards of mine. Clearly, he did, as one can figure out by his massive, mushy hangover. Moving on...

Then, she arrived ... she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and to his utter surprise she looked distinctly similar to Fleur Delacour. Ron spat on the ground in disgust. He had followed her and now he was here, all alone, not even near Hogwarts, let alone in the same country as it. He looked around the cobbled street, and realized it was most likely that he got there because of the girl leading him on and just using him.

He wondered where Harry was, and thought that he had at least gotten it better off than him. Harry had found his miraculous one-night stand in a very attractive, dark green colored ... cactus! He had been very drunk indeed when he had leaned back in his chair, whispered to it, and tried to give it a big smacker, right on it's spiny skin. Yes, thought Ron, I definitely got off better than Harry.

But there was still Draco. He could have been anywhere and who knew, he could have even been back at Hogwarts, telling Professor Dumbledore at that very moment that he had seen them drinking and getting them into trouble, at this very moment.

Oh, bugger, Ron thought once again, scratching his chin and frowning, I'll bet you he is. He quickly made a mental note of finding that out once and for all.

At that moment Harry Potter, the amazing cactus kisser survivor, strode up into the lane where Ron was sitting and sat down on the bench next to him, miserably.

"So," Ron started off, breaking the silence, "how was your night--''

"--I don't wanna talk about it," Harry snapped.

A pregnant pause.

"Right. And where exactly did you get those stitches from?" asked Ron, curiously.

"I said I don't wanna talk about it!"

And that is where we leave them, as they ponder over how they're ever going to get back to Hogwarts, how they're even going to try to explain what happened, and where exactly in the world Draco Malfoy really is.

~>~<~>~<~>~<~ ...

Many miles away, in a neighboring country, yawning having just waken up, Draco Malfoy giggled as he and Hermione sneaked out into the corridor from the Prefects' Bathroom, heading over to Dumbledore's office ...

... Well, Ron was indeed right then.

<~The End~>